UGG, John, really?
by invadin-kitties
Summary: As a surprise early birthday gift, John decides to give Sherlock a new pair of UGG's. Kind of slash, not really sure, they are kind of together, half slash.
1. Chapter 1

_Okay so this is my very first posted fic so reviews would be GREAT. I want to thank my fiction class lunch time sherlock-off because that inspired my story. This is meant to be a cutesy, feely, awwww story so I hope you guys like it!_

**DISCLAIMER: ****the characters are not mine and the world is not mine**

It is was unusually cold and harsh winter that December down in London, specifically at 221b Baker Street. Above the rooftops of the townhouses and above the whole of the city at the clouds, specifically snow clouds. The fluffy giants are rather uncommon, but that winter is special.

It was just the first week of December when the storm came. Snow floated down and covered the streets and buildings, making the traffic even worse than it was and the inhabitants stayed in the warmth of the buildings. Schools were closed, offices shut down, and stores shut their blinds.

Around this time Sherlock was working on a particularly fun murder. A child's body was found floating in the Thames, but that wasn't the fun part. All of the limbs were missing and were found stuffed away with other murders, and each limb was painted beautifully. Sherlock wanted to take those limbs home as decoration, but John refused to have a bloody arm with flowering trees painted on it hanging above the couch.

During the storm, John was writing on his blog while Sherlock protested at John's refusal to hang the art limbs.

"Those flowers were beautiful John! Didn't you see the detail in them?"

"No."

"You won't have to hang it up, I'll do it."

"No."

"Please John, an early Christmas gift?" John looked up from his laptop and gave a pointed glare to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and hopped onto the sofa chair, deep in thought. After a couple minutes of Sherlock's breathing and the clickity-clack of typing, the ringing of John's phone interrupted.

"Lestrade?...Another limb…puppies? Seriously, puppies? …We're coming…" John put down the phone and looked towards Sherlock.

"Time to get another limb." This made Sherlock immediately look up and hop off his throne. By the time John pushed himself up Sherlock already had his coat and scarf on, ready to instigate the murder.

"Anything special about this one?" Sherlock asked while John was zipping up his own coat.

"Well," John was opening the front door, "The foot has puppies on it."

Sherlock nodded and bounded down the stairs, excited at the idea that he might be able to sneak a foot in coat pocket. Once outside the pair fully noticed the growing snow sticking to the ground and the cars skidding slightly on the roads. Sherlock wanted to get there as soon as possible, but John forced him to walk, claiming that the roads were too dangerous and the murder won't undo itself if they were five minutes late.

While walking down the pavement, John noticed something. Sherlock's shoes were getting soaked in the snow and he was shivering slightly.

"Are you cold?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer.

"Your shoes are getting soaked." John commented. "Don't you have boots?"

Sherlock only shivered in response.

John looked at him, thinking about what to do. After a couple seconds of thought he pulled Sherlock into the nearest café that was open. Inside he immediately bought two hot cocoas and slipped Sherlock a cup without comment. Sherlock looked at the hot drink in his hands and muttered thanks. John then pulled them back outside and they continued on their way to the murder.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello! I decided to update this part a little fast because it will help explain the story for later better. My chapters will be short-ish, so expect updates around once a week at the least, probably once every few days. This is probably be a shorter fanfic, but it might be longer if my muse wants it. Hope you like it!_

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters or the world, or that specific kind of UGG. I have a different pair.**

Sherlock and John were now at 221b, finished with the on scene investigation. Sherlock unsuccessfully managed to snatch the painted food before it was packed away. He was about to blame John because of the pit stop and the insisting that the roads were too dangerous, but thought better of it and was contented to lying down on the couch as John surfed the internet.

"Sherlock," John began while turning to face Sherlock. "You need winter boots."

"No I don't, my shoes will suffice and this snow won't last."

"I don't care, you need warm shoes." John said stubbornly, then turned to his laptop screen once more. An amazon page was open on the screen.

A couple days later something arrived in the mail. Luckily, Sherlock was out at the morgue so John could open the package without worry. After a sheet of wrapping paper and copious amounts of tape, the gift was ready.

When Sherlock strode through the door, John was sitting by the computer with a smile on his face.

"I have a gift, an early christmas gift."

Sherlock stared suspiciously at John, his adamant refusal to have limb decoration was believable and he couldn't have gotten him this. Sherlock then decided to open the gift, to trust John that is was not a bomb. Maybe it was a puzzle.

He took the gift, and for the sake of John, did not try to guess what was in the box. With careful fingers her pried apart the paper, which covered a shoe box. Specifically a boot box. Specifically UGG boots; a dark brown pair stuffed with ample amounts of fleece.

"John, what is this?"

John sighed. "You need warm boots, Sherlock."

Sherlock dubiously inspected the boots and licked it once. "Twin-faced sheepskin. Tanned. Fleece inside. Synthetic sole. Waterproof spray coating. New. Made in australia. Again, John, why?"

"Just try them out, for one day, then decide." John turned back to the laptop while Sherlock looked at the boots suspiciously like they might bite. After a couple minutes of glaring, Sherlock stopped and placed the boots back into the box.

"Fine, I wear them for one day, just one day to decide." Sherlock relented. "After that I will most likely return them."

John smiled. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello! New installment, hope you like it! Next couple chapters will have more cuddly cutsy Johnlock._

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters.**

It was the next day, and Sherlock was back in his mind palace as John searched to kitchen for edible food.

"Sherlock, why do we have-? Nevermind..." John mumbled when he found a bag of fingernails in the corner cabinet, but then thought better of asking exactly why Sherlock would have such a thing in the kitchen. After about 20 minutes of searching, John couldn't find anything except some moldy bread and a can of tomato juice, though he wouldn't be surprised if it was really blood.

"Sherlock," He called.

Sherlock didn't move.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock was still sitting in the same position.

"For God's sake…" John mumbled. He walked over to Sherlock, who was currently occupying the sofa, and nudged him. After some insistent nudging, Sherlock finally noticed John with a scowl.

"Really, John, you know-"

"We need to go to the store."

"John," Sherlock began, " You are perfectly capable of going to the store on your own."

John rolled his eyes. "I know that, but I thought you could try out your shoes."

Sherlock sighed.

"Fine." He grumbled. With cat-like grace, he got up and went to find the boots

It had only been one block of walking when Sherlock was planning to murder the UGG's.

"I don't know why you got me these shoes-"

Sherlock angrily stomped.

"I feel like I'm wearing slippers! Really, John, how could you ever think-"

He kicked at a clump of snow.

Throughout this torrent of threats and angry remarks John was silently laughing at the show Sherlock was putting on.

When John and Sherlock got to the supermarket, Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. In a fit of anger he ripped the shows off his feet and stuffed them in the shopping basket. Even with John's insisting that he couldn't walk around barefoot in the public superstore Sherlock kept his feet bare and his boots far away from his person. Other shoppers would stare at his bare feet in slight shock and John would cast annoyed looks at Sherlock for the attention that he had attracted. Sherlock did not buy in and haughtily walked around the aisles on his bare feet.

The next adventure was getting home. Even with threats Sherlock didn't put on the boots and walked on the snow-covered pathways barefoot. John eventually gave up and led Sherlock out of the store.

After about five minutes of walking Sherlock realized something, the boots did provide one good thing, his feet were warm in them. Now, though, each step sent a tremor of pain in his feet and they grew number and paler. The cold snow was hardened in places by the near zero temperatures in London and Sherlock realized exactly why people would stay home in such weather.

By the time they were only one block away from 221b, Sherlock couldn't feel his feet.

When he entered the warmth of the house he saw his feet were white and tinted blue.

By the time John put away all the groceries he noticed Sherlock's problem.

"Oh, Sherlock, why didn't you tell me?" He lectured while examining the frozen blocks that were once feet. "They're frost bitten, you bloody idiot."

Sherlock didn't even bother to reply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: Sorry I took so long to update, I've been busy with school! I probably will do another chapter, but it would be the last. It's a short fanfic. Hope you like it!**

John had forced Sherlock to stay put in the apartment. The very first thing John did was wrap Sherlock's foot with warm towels, then even warmer towels, then burning hot towels. Sherlock hissed and demanded why John was doing this "absurd and elementary treatment" but John replied briskly that he was the doctor and his patient had to shut up. John then proceed to medicate Sherlock up with pain meds and to move the dizzy Sherlock to bed, making sure to keep the feet warm.

Sherlock awoke to the burning sensation of a very hot towel touching his feet.

"John," Sherlock mumbled. "I'm sure my feet are fine…"

John snorted from across the room, he was apparently fixing new warm things of Sherlock's feet. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John was worried, the frostbite was minimal and should heal pretty fast, but Sherlock's stubborn stupidity about the shoes worried. Yes, he knew that Sherlock is very much like a child, but all this for shoes? The fact that Sherlock would allow himself to be hurt so in the name of such a small matter worried John, for even though Sherlock was safe, what else would he do? If he could endanger his life for shoes, how extreme could he get? What would he do if his friends were in danger?

At this John promptly got up from his seat in the main room, trying to distract himself. He should not think of this, Sherlock was just being Sherlock, right?

It was about a week after the incident. Sherlock's feet have recovered enough so he could walk once more, but John still ordered him home. Lestrade tried to call them again about the murder, but John answered with a 'Sherlock's unable to come, he's injured', which led to more questioning on Lestrade's side. John just said Sherlock hurt his feet, which satisfied to other end of the phone conversation. All of this happened while Sherlock was enjoying the universe of Netflix, unaware of the outside world.

After that call, John yelled out that he needed to go shopping and he left, leaving Sherlock staring at the computer screen. It wasn't until ten minutes later when Sherlock called out to John that his feet were getting cold that he realized that John wasn't home. Flipping through his memories, he finally came to the solution that John must be shopping. That still left his feet cold, in need of some sort of warmth. Sherlock hesitated, then shuffled over the bed.

Underneath the bed was the Ugg's. John decided that the boots would be returned, but he never got to it; which was lucky for Sherlock. He quickly pulled out the box and took out the boots, walking back to the couch with the much-hated shoes in hand. Once sitting down, Sherlock slipped the boots on. Since they felt like slippers, they were going to be his slippers.

Sherlock has decided that he is okay with them, for this function. The sheep fur inside kept his feet toasty and happy, and he never felt such boots before. After about fifteen minutes of watching Netflix and wearing the boots, Sherlock came to a final conclusion: he likes them.


End file.
